A Gamble of Sorts
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin never killed Zoso, but controls the Dark One, unwillingly, through the dagger. Enraged at having his plans thwarted, subject to another master, the Dark One, Zoso, thinks he has another chance to free himself when a girl named Belle comes seeking the master of the Dark One for aid. Will his new gamble work or will his master and the maid become something else?


_Even as little Rum/Belle we got in the 4_ _th_ _season the withdrawals are already starting to kick in. This is a little bit off my later norm. Slightly comical and I stress the word slightly, or at least, what my terrible humor can bring. Any who, updates may be sporadic. Thanks for reading!_

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing in any way related to OUaT.**

 **~8~8~**

The problem with gambling was the simple truth that one had a fifty percent chance to lose. For every flip of the cards, for every roll of the dice that tumbled out the wine cups turned gambling implements, for all the trickery and games of luck, each and every one had a half chance of coming up a loser.

Of course besides this fact, no one but a supreme pessimist ever banked on themselves losing and certainly not the ageless Dark One who for years had combed all the realms to search for the desperate soul to free him from the agony that was the immortality of the dagger. For centuries he had spun and plotted and tested every avenue, doing all with in his near limitless power to make certain every aspect of his machinations turned the way he wished and fell seamlessly in place. Every angle had been admired, every fault seemingly repaired and set a new, and every turn judged and waited. He was a master at counting cards, of bumping tables, and the weighted die.

Yet still, somehow, some way, the Dark One, the very pinnacle of cunning, deceit, and the expert on risk, lost what should have been an easy gamble.

That night amidst the pathetically gnarled oaks and twisted, infested pines in the midst of the forest where only the very brave, stupid, or desperate would tread alone he had lost the gamble. He had bet his freedom, his will, and his very life on the cowardly Rumpelstiltskin. He had wagered the cur would have plunged the fated bane of his existence into the black mass of his wretched heart and end his eternal torment. By all means, the spindly, meager spinner should have done just that. He should have ended his miserable life and the name Zoso should have been irreparably erased from the kris' steel.

But gambling, even on something so elaborately wrought, was a tricky business.

Contrary to all his plotting, the cowardly spinner had not the spine to even stab the ill-fated fetish into his heart. His hands, knotted and worn and strong from carding wool and turning the hairs into fine thread had quivered like the spinners intrepid heart. He had not the courage to do what needed to be done, but neither did he have the courage to let this denizen of near limitless power free to set his dark wroth upon him for his cowardly incompetence.

And so the gamble was lost and Zoso found himself thrall of another master. No matter how cowardly and spineless he was.

"The leaders from the Farfall Village have arrived, Rumpelstiltskin," Zoso announced with neutral boredom to his keeper.

Standing against a pine support that looked as though the insipid house of the spinner had been built around the pole, the Dark One seemed an ominous shadow even in the middle of the main room in broad daylight. A dark velvet cloak with glittering sapphire trim in mystical swirls around the fringes of the cowl and the sleeves arrayed his massive form. His face was covered as always and about only the knuckles of his hands showed from the sleeves of the voluminous cloak.

Nervously tapping a wooden spoon to a nicked wooden bowl, the poor spinner looked up nervously to the Dark One as though he were a raging tiger barely kept in line. The dagger continually strapped to his thigh dictated with the cold steel against his skin that this powerful man was in fact, just that. "We-ll… what do they want?" he queried quietly as if his voice should rise any louder the entire house would crumbled upon their heads.

Raising a hand, the appendage still barely visible from the void black inside the cloak, the Dark One shut his eyes and focused. With a simple spell, he listened to the whispers of the sagely men and women who had only just entered the village. Their fretted whispers were like the rustling of corn sheathes in the wind, but he could hone them into clear speech.

After a moment, Zoso slowly dropped his hand. A displeased smirk as if he had just bitten into something sour cut across his near corpulent, adumbrated features. "Food for the winter and their lands made like new. The ogres salted the lands and they have not even a bean in all the village."

"Is that all?" tenuous relief flitted through Rumpelstiltskin's wary, soft voice.

Clever man, always reading into things before he leapt, Zoso noted with perceptible regret. Had he even the slightest bit of a spine, he would have been able to perform the great deed that would have set him free. Rumpelstiltskin was the perfect candidate. If only he were not so blasted cowardly. "No," he finally replied in the same natural bored tone. "They've had a lasting feud with the village of Mannengrave and have a hefty cache of gold to persuade you to send a plague in that direction."

Even as he spoke the words, Zoso knew they would never come to pass, nor did he actually care. His master was not like the old duke. He would never do something so inconceivably… cruel.

Grimacing hard into the steaming meal before him, Rumpelstiltskin felt his gut churn in disgust. What was the unctuous evil that made men's heart so cruel, to turn on their fellow men or to think that sending children into a battlefield would be fruitful? Why was there this wicked shadow that prowled all men down to their very graves?

Shaking the thought away, for they were certainly questions he would never be able to answer by himself, the ruler of the Dark One nervously raised the wooden spoon with the last bit of spongy faintly yellow food uneaten. "Tell them they may have food and their fields made hale again."

"How many times must we go over this?" the Dark One asked tetchily, his voice melting into a sneering, seething timbre of ice and fire. "What is this boon going to cost them? How many times have I told you, Rumpelstiltskin all magic comes with a price. I can't just give them this without demanding something in return."

Really, the man could be dense at times. He was so used to being the coward still that he nearly folded like a blade of wheat in the wind whenever others seeking boons from the master of the Dark One arrived. Mostly he gave them what they wished in hopes they would leave him and his son be and would not try to take the dagger for themselves as he had done. Sometimes, he could be absolutely nauseating with his cowardice!

Raking a hand through his shaggy dirty brown hair, a look of panic that always pounced upon his face when he had to think of such mattered marbled upon his features. He always looked like a man trapped with scarce options, a man who had to constantly think what would keep others placated and leave them be.

Zoso could have almost pitied him.

"Tell them they shall have their food and earth if they no longer seek to destroy this other village," he stammered hastily as if the village elders were already knocking on his door to seek an audience. "Peace will be the price. Just… peace."

With a slight incline of his cowl hidden head, Zoso grunted assent and turned to the door. By the footsteps, he could tell the elders were nearly at his master's door and so he would have to do what he did every time – play the middle man.

Before one of the withered hands could knock upon the thin, slightly leaning door, Zoso opened the portal with a wave of his hand. His bulk blocked all the door as though he were a needless basalt wall in front of the portal. With his face completely dark under the brim of his cowl, he cut a large ominous figure that would have made even the bravest tremble where they stood as they looked up upon the being and into the dark void of the hood.

Shocked, the elders almost communally took a step back. Their wrinkled, worried faces all held fear and surprise and terror. There was little wonder now why even if the most powerful man in all the realms lived there no one was around to beg for favors.

"Your requests have been duly given thought," his voice rang though the timbre was a simple, monotone of finality akin to a stern judge. Ignoring the looks of shock and the quick prayers to the deities the elder people uttered, he continue un-phased. "You will be given food and your lands arable and fecundate once more. The price for this is not gold or jewels or wealth, but merely you no longer war with the Mannengrave village."

A rumble of discontent wove through the elders at his words. Even in their terror, their hatred was hotter still towards their longtime foes. Despite such a favorable outcome there looked to be some who would have rather had the pestilence extinguish their hated foes than food in their people's bellies.

With an inward sigh, Zoso could barely believe he had ever been one of these idiots, a mere mortal man.

"You have been given this ultimatum!" Zoso suddenly roared. His voice was akin to the thunder and the elders quailed suddenly like sheep in the sudden boom that left no room for their pathetic intent to argue. "Go now before my master changes his mind and decides to direct pestilence upon _your_ worthless hides you complete and utter imbecils!"

Nearly, he elected to gather storm clouds in the heavens and add a small flash of lightening above them but dismissed the notion as quickly as the mischievous thought had come. Rumpelstiltskin would bemoan at him for days if they had to return elders back to their village as rigid, hair raised corpses.

Needing no second bidding the aged sages of Farfall clambered over one another to be away. Their robes and ornate gowns ripped and tore on bits of the twigs, prickles, and brush that poked out from the roadside and were smothered in dust as they gathered what rickety speed they could and flung themselves away from the Dark One with the good fortune they had already attained.

A small smile formed upon Zoso's thick lips as he slightly turned his head to the right and watched them dash away down the dusty path they had trod. He nearly laughed to see some of the elders hike up their robes revealing desiccated, vein mapped legs like chickens and run with all their strength to be away, but as he turned his head back to the front of the doorway he frowned deeper than was already the case.

Not everyone had dashed away.

Before him, clad from head to toe in a light green and blue cloak, a figure, obviously feminine stood her ground. She had managed to slip in with the party of elders but so focused on their prattling and worries he had not noticed her.

"You should be after your elders, girl," he grunted seriously though his tone had taken the same careless monotone once more. "The master doesn't like unwelcomed visitors any more than he can manage, and your old ones might break a hip with the pace they're setting." Even though his face was cloaked one could almost see the malevolent grin of hope on his lips that that would certainly be the case.

Bravely taking a step forward, the woman stopped still a good distance away, but the step seemed to bolster her to show she was unafraid. Two delicate hands, obviously not ones of a milk maid or a farmer's daughter appeared from the folds of the lovely cloak and pushed back the cowl. Light maple, coppery curls fell out around a lovely face that could only be described as beautiful. Her eyes were as blue as the sky and her features a work that any master sculptor would have begged a fortune to chisel into immortality. And yet, despite her beauty, or perhaps adding to her charms, there was a desperation and trouble in her azure depths.

Swallowing hard, the girl, now he noticed shabbier that he first supposed took another step forward. The ends of her simple cloak was stained with mud, her shoes hardly travel worthy and her body thinner than should have been the case. "I'm not with the elders," she finally began, her voice surprisingly even for what must have been sheer terror, staring up alone at the Dark One. "I come from a distant land called Avonlea and I must speak with the man who controls the Dark One. It is of utter, grave importance that will spell the doom of my people if I do not."

"If you know of us then you know the master does not deal one on one with the people that come to him for aide." Zoso took a step back and began to carelessly close the door. He closed the portal at a snail's pace to relish in the turmoil on her face for as long as he could. They received people like her far too often, people that needed to see the man who had conquered the Dark One one on one, hoping to forge some alliance or gain secret favors none else could.

Desperate, the woman took another step forward before Zoso could fully close the door. "Please… please you don't understand. We're being attacked by ogres." She took in a breath as the door ceased to close. A look of trepidation crossed her face, but she knew she had to continue. "We're desperate. Surely he will listen to someone whose own realm is beset by the same creatures that once marched upon his home!"

Ogres… desperation. Though her plight mattered little to Zoso, her words brought forth the old embers of his last machinations that had so utterly failed. Her words were like the breath to a spark. Yes, those were the tools he used before, could he do so again?

"Wait here, girl," he demanded and closed the door softly. From her words the wheels in his head had been greased and set in motion once more. A small plan had immediately crept from the corners of his evil mind and he could not help but seize the dark contemplation before the thought had a chance to retreat back into hopelessness.

Padding over to his nervous master, the Dark One loomed like a figure of death. Hands clasped before him, he watched beneath the dark cowl, his mater staring back at him. "I did as you asked," he replied in his cold way. "The elders have been sent away but only time will tell if they will take the deal." He paused, but continued before the spinner could input another word. "But we have another matter at hand. There is a girl at the door, she says her people need help… from ogres."

Ogres. Rumpelstiltskin shivered in fright at the mere mention of them. Even the very whispers of ogres could throw him into a tailspin of increasing cowardice. Because of the ogres he was in this whole mess, living every day in fear with a Dark One at his back and people who would gladly kill him or his son for the dagger. Because of the ogres he had to fear more than what was the case. Because of the ogres, this girl was at his door and though all he wanted to do was send her away, fearful of a repeat of the actions that had led him to the dagger, he couldn't rightly do so. What would Bae say if he found out his father had sent away someone who needed aide from ogres after all they had been through?

Standing up suddenly, the spinner reached for his crutch. He half wobbled out the crooked wooden chair and began to back up like a mouse into a hole. His good foot found the rough stair that would lead upstairs and he planned to retreat with all haste, just as he did when any hard decision came out. "As… as long as you do nothing to claim this dagger, I don't care what deal you make with her," Rumpelstiltskin stammered frightfully, deciding to, as he did on occasion, to leave the matter of payment up to Zoso and out of his hands, coward that he was. Looking from Zoso, to the door, his face wrenched with abject cowardice. His strong hands wrung against his staff tentatively, his one of many nervous habits. "Make a deal with her for the safety of her people. I don't care what the price is, just… nothing to get the dagger."

"Of course." Zoso bowed mockingly to his cowardly master. No doubt the man would slip away down the secret stair to the back of the house and hobble down to his sheep where his son stood tending them. That's where he usually went after people came to see him about favors.

Turning on his heel before Rumpelstiltskin even managed to scale half the stairs the Dark One padded towards the door and opened the portal.

The golden sunlight added mystic and allure to the beautiful woman's features and worry all at once. Tawny sun played through her hair, tuning her russet locks into copper fire and her eyes seemed to glow like heated sapphires.

Taking a step out the house, the Dark One loomed ominous like some murderous, well fed raven. Where the girl was sunlight, he seemed to absorb the rays and churn out only darkness around him. "Here is the only deal. The master is in need of a servant. He is an eccentric as you can probably guess by this miserable hovel he insists to live in. He is just so in the mood for someone to look after this little shack. In return for the safety of your home you shall become his thrall forever, never leaving, severing his _every_ whim and demand."

"Wh… what?" The woman's brow furrowed as she leaned forward a bit in confusion and terror of the words.

Of all the deals she thought to strike, she never picture that as one to be hammered out. Such a sudden demand would rock anyone off their balance.

"Do you accept the terms?" Zoso asked emotionlessly.

"I… it's…."

"Do you or do you not accept the terms?"

"How…?"

"Yes or no?"

Fear darted through he woman's azure eyes but she could tell in his voice this was the only option. This was all that would be. She would lose her family and the ones she loved, but at least that would be safe.

Taking a deep breath she slowly nodded her head. "Y… yes," she assented sorrowfully.

"Good," Zoso hummed happily, not caring to relish in the girls misery but in a plan he saw slowly taking shape before him. If a desperation could not be sufficiently found, it could always be made.

A good thing about gambling was that as long as one held the currency in which was being dealt, one still had the option to overcome their losses. Once again he was going to be able to gamble on desperation. One again, he would choose to roll the dice.

And even if things didn't roll as he planned, with the coming storm of this change, life around the cowardly Rumpelstiltskin and his blasted son was going to be rather amusing to watch.


End file.
